A Blithesome Hell
by Death Spire
Summary: Alfred Jones has always been troubled. Ever since he was a kid, he's had nightmares, panic attacks, and a lot of other things he'd rather forget. But as he got older, things seemed to get better. He had no idea how fast things can change, or how sometimes you should lean on other people if you want to remember how to stand. T for depression and related topics. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

The child's eyes snapped open as he realized he was surrounded by complete darkness. It was the kind of darkness that only came on a night when there was no moon in the sky and a person found himself home alone, and yet paranoia would descend from nowhere, followed by a curious, soft knocking sound coming from the other side of the bedroom door. It was the kind of night that made you afraid to stand for fear of a hand reaching out from under the bed and feeling it's cold fingers lustfully wrap around your ankle. The fear of what was being masked in the suffocating darkness. The terror of the realization when you discover you forgot to lock the front door.

Alfred tried to curl himself up as small as possible and retreat to the comfort of hiding under his blanket where the monsters couldn't find him. That was how the mind of a child worked after all; when big brother was out late and he was afraid of the boogey man who hid in his closet, only the act of disappearing into the folds of his soft comforter could calm him.

Another nightmare… He tried the trick Iggy had taught him; breathe in for five seconds, hold it… and out. That usually seemed to stop the terror, but tonight, if anything, he could feel it getting worse. As if a cold hand had found a way to penetrate his chest and wrap around his heart, trying to still it's frantic beating.

He took a deep breath as he heard something out in the hallway. A pounding of foot steps, trying too hard to be quiet but still failing. He squeezed his eyes shut and continued his breathing exercises. _In… out… In… Out-_

It was at his door.

He opened his eyes and stared at the wall as he heard the door creak open. A little bit of light poured in through the newly penetrated threshold, a gate meant to protect him and give him privacy now useless against the being that lurked in the doorway. It cast a dark, menacing shadow against the wall, the pure weight of the malformed silhouette alone suffocating Alfred in yet another panic attack.

Clutching the blanket to his chest and taking in deep, ragged breaths, Alfred, feeling more defenseless than ever, turned to the door way and couldn't stifle a scream. Standing there with it's head cocked, watching Alfred with an intrigued, entertained smile was a creature that could only be something a child could muster up from the darkest part of his imagination.

The beast seemed to smile for a moment before lunging at the child. Alfred cried out in terror as he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and squeeze so hard he could barely breathe. He fought against the figure as hard as he could, swinging his short, childish fists in the air and hoping, praying, that they would make contact with anything. As his fist collided with something soft and he heard a string of curse words fill the air, his eyes snapped open as he saw Iggy with one arm wrapped defensively around Alfred and the other rubbing a bleeding lip.

Relieved and overwhelmed, Alfred buried his face into Iggy's chest, the familiar scent of Earl Grey tea and old books the only respite from the darkness he felt descend and cover him, from the nightmares he knew he would have again when he finally managed to fall back asleep. Although he knew that probably wouldn't happen again for a while.

~ Many Years Later~

A now 19 year old Alfred walked down the hallway, clutching his bag in his clammy hands. He tried to wipe the sweat off on his pants, but for some reason he couldn't get the salty perspiration off of his palms. He breathed in, then out. _I can do this… _He thought. _I _need _to do this… After all, what kind of hero would I be if I couldn't even do this for Iggy?!_

He straightened the uncomfortable tie that wrapped itself around his neck like a noose. He always hated suits, but he guessed that it was okay to wear formal attire when he went out to do something that held this much importance. Straightening his glasses, he opened the door and entered the penthouse suite of his potential future boss to complete the task that would mean the difference between being a hero… and being a failure.

**Hey! I know it seems like nothing much happened in this chapter, but trust me: in the art of storytelling, everything has relevance! Besides, we get into all of the juicy stuff next chapter. : )**

**Please comment and tell me what you think of it so far. Alot of the stuff that is going to happen is from personal experience, so I know what a serious topic this is.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

As Alfred entered the suite he was immediately hit with the scent of flowery air fresheners, as if someone had bathed the penthouse in the fake aroma to mask some other, unwanted scent. He straightened the stiff, black suit that Iggy had bought him just in case an opportunity like this one ever arose, and ran his hand through his nicely combed, dirty blond hair. Never before had he felt so out of place in his own skin.

Looking around, he noted the meticulous perfection of the office he had just entered. From the way the spotless white couches were arranged into a perfect square, to the way that all the books on the bookshelf were carefully and obsessively arranged by color and size, Alfred could tell that the man he was meeting was all about organization and appearances.

He looked at the large, glass desk that faced the doorway he had just passed through, noting the large black leather chair that faced away from the window that covered nearly the entire far war. It was as if the person who was to sit there was either too busy or too important to care about what was happening just out the window, several stories below, in the world where there was no spotless white furniture or penthouse offices in the sky. The world Alfred had just emerged from.

Another door opened and a large man with piercing blue eyes and blonde hair that was artfully slicked back entered. Seeing Alfred, he made his way over, not once breaking eye contact. He reached out to shake Alfred's hand, making sure that his hand was on top.

"Halo, my name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, and I presume you are Alfred Jones?" The man spoke in a thick German accent, and his posture was that of a man who demands respect.

"Um, yes, I'm Alfred." Alfred managed a nervous grin, painfully aware of how weak and sweaty his grip was. Under normal circumstances, he would probably smile, shake the guys hand, and get it all over with, no problem. But these weren't normal circumstances.

"Yes, now would you mind sitting down?" Mr. Beilschmidt gestured to a small chair that was placed in front of the glass desk.

Alfred nodded and sat down, hoping his interviewer didn't notice as he once again tried to wipe the sweat off his palms. He placed his bag down on the floor beneath his feet.

Wasting no time, Mr. Beilschmidt began talking, carefully observing Alfred's resumé and occasionally looking up, as if making sure Alfred hadn't run away. "Mr. Jones, I hope you understand what it is exactly that we do here at Beilschmidt Industries?"

"Um, yes, sir, I do…" Alfred silently cursed himself, now consciously aware of how the back of his left calf was itching and how he could feel a drop of sweat begin to trickle down the side of his face.

_Fuck, fuck… _Alfred silently cursed himself.

Mr. Beilschmidt eyed Alfred curiously. "Yes, we are a diamond company, and the best in the business. We don't normally meet for job interviews with people of your age, much less hire them, but I have to say, I am impressed by what I've heard of you…" He paused a moment. "Mr. Jones, would you like a glass of water?"

Alfred nodded a little too eagerly. "Um, yes, please."

"Of course..." The tall german stood and walked towards the door he'd just entered from minutes ago. While his back was turned, Alfred wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with the tough, non-absorbent fabric of his suit sleeve.

_I..._ Alfred could barely think straight.

Mr. Beilschmidt came back a moment later, a Dixie Cup full of cold water in hand. He placed it in front of Alfred.

_Can't breathe…_

Alfred didn't take the water. He didn't say anything. He just stared into his lap, dead to the world.

"Mr. Jones?" Mr. Beilschmidt asked, his voice going from confused to concerned.

Alfred could only shake his head, the feeling of his chest imploding in on itself almost too much to handle. Snatching his bag, Alfred stood up from his chair and ran out the door, not turning to look back as he heard Mr. Beilschmidt calling his name.

Alfred sat on the bus, his clammy hands folded neatly in his lap and his eyes staring intently at the floor.

"Hey, kid, you alright?" A voice asked.

Alfred looked up to see the bus driver glancing at him in the mirror.

"Umm, yeah…" Alfred put on his best fake smile. "I'm fine."

The bus driver just nodded, still eyeing him suspiciously. _He probably thinks I'm some kind of druggie, _Alfred thought. After all, he's been just sitting there staring at the floor for hours. He just didn't know what he was going to tell Arthur...

He turned his attention out the window. The world outside passed in a blur, everything melted into one big mass of chaotic passing light. The sky above was full of tiny stars, all millions of miles above. Alfred sighed, lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He knew that when someone looked up at the sky and noticed how big the universe was, they were supposed feel humbled. To Alfred, it just felt lonely.

As the bus pulled into its next stop, Alfred stood up and exited the vehicle, skipping steps on the way down. When his feet hit the pavement, he looked around to see where his little detour has taken him. He couldn't help but laugh as he recognised where he had ended up. As the bus pulled away, filling the air with the loud hum of it's engine, Alfred let himself remember the times he'd spent there with Iggy, walking home after going to the store.

"_This bridge," Arthur told the little boy who looked up at him, "was made a long time ago."_

Alfred leaned over the edge of the bridge, looking down at the water that raged twenty feet below.

"_Iggy, why did they build it?" Alfred asked, looking down over the edge of the bridge. The water, that rushed by like it had the most important job in the world, looked like million miles away to the small child._

"_Well, you see the water? It's really strong, and dangerous. A long time ago, the town was separated by it. People used to get swept away trying to get from one side to the other." Arthur shook his head, like he was telling Alfred about some great shame._

Alfred grabbed a hold of the edge of the bridge guard that was put up to keep people from falling off. He hefted himself up, standing on top of the concrete barrier.

"_So one day someone said, 'why don't we build a bridge?' Because, Alfred, when two sides that rely on each other so much are disconnected by an obstacle, you have to work hard to overcome that obstacle- because if you don't, both sides will fall."_

Arthur looked up at the sky, breathing in the crisp night air. It was so cold it actually hurt.

_Alfred looked up at Arthur, smiling widely. "Iggy, was that in one of your books?"_

Alfred loosened his tie, letting it fall back onto the bridge.

_Arthur smiled down at the child, ruffling his hair. "Oh, Alfred… One day you'll understand that sometimes you can't learn everything from a book. Sometimes you just have to learn from personal experience… because as wise as books are, the best teacher is experience." He paused for a moment, realizing something. "Now that, I did learn from a book."_

Alfred spread out his arms, letting all the air out of his lungs. He looked down and chuckled to himself before climbing back down onto the bridge. _No_... He thought. _That's not me. I don't give up that easily._

He felt his phone begin to vibrate in his pocket. _Probably Iggy wondering why the hell I'm not home yet…_

He hit the ignore button and turned around to head home. If he could even call it that anymore.

**Hey! Okay, so I know this chapter is a bit longer than the first, and I'm sorry if it's not to your liking: I just really needed to write something today and I decided to work on this. I hope you enjoy! Also, please leave me a review about what you think so far; reviews are really important to people who want to improve their writing. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! This is where the 'depression related topics' come into play. So just a warning (I guess it's proper etiquette to warn readers before you write something that some may label as 'disturbing') this may be a cutter/depression trigger. Read on and enjoy!**

As soon as Alfred opened the door, Arthur was all over him.

"Alfred F. Jones, where in God's name have you been all night?" He practically yelled.

The look on Alfred's face was enough to shut Arthur up.

"Alfred… I take it the interview didn't go as planned? Don't worry about it, though… I'm sure we can think of something. There's got to be another place to find a job! Why don't you sit down. I can make you some tea…" Arthur rushed into the kitchen, busying himself with the tea kettle.

"Don't worry about it…" Alfred sulked. "I don't even like tea." With that he mounted the stairs and locked himself in his room, leaving Arthur all alone.

Alfred locked his bedroom door behind him, sighing. _Well_, he thought, _at least now I don't have to deal with all of Iggy's books..._

The house they were currently residing in served two purposes; the down stairs was the book store that Arthur ran, obtaining most of the brother's income. The upstairs was where they lived, complete with two small bedrooms and a bathroom they had to share. Yes, the house was small, but it was all they could afford. But now that the book store wasn't paying like it used to, they could barely even do that.

_That job interview was our last chance…_ Alfred sulked, sliding his back against the door and crossing his legs. _And now we're both screwed… and it's all my fault._

Alfred buried his head in his hands. He just wanted to disappear. He wanted life to stop, he wanted to be anywhere but there.

A soft knocking on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Alfred… Kiku called. Are you alright?" Arthur's concerned voice said from the other side.

"Yeah… I'm fine. I just want to be alone."

"Alright. But I'm here if you want to talk… or anything…" Arthur left, leaving the Alfred alone with his thoughts.

Kiku had learned about their little financial predicament and, being the friend he was, set Alfred up with the interview. He had known Ludwig Beilschmidt from some work they'd done together in the past, and Kiku bent over backwards to convince Mr. Beilschmidt to meet with Alfred. And after the display Alfred had put on, Mr. Beilschmidt had apparently called Kiku, concerned at the way he had acted out.

_And now I've made Kiku look like an idiot… I wouldn't be surprised if he never wanted to see me again…_

Alfred got to his feet and took off the suit. He breathed a sigh of relief when he threw the suffocating fabric onto his bed, then quickly put on a white T-shirt with the Captain America shield painted on the front and left on his boxers. He opened his computer screen and clicked on the internet icon. He went to the search bar to type in YouTube, but a little box on the corner of the screen caught his attention. The wifi wasn't working.

_Just what I needed… _Alfred internally ranted.

He closed the screen and looked up, seeing his old box of comic books on the top of his dresser. He moved his chair over and stood on top of it, preparing to grab the box. He hadn't looked at his comics since he first heard that they might lose the book shop, so he decided then was as good a time as any. He reached his hands over his head and pushed aside his action figures to grab the box, but his chair tipped over, sending him plummeting towards the floor.

He hit the ground with a thud, his his head exploding in pain as it hit the wooden base of his bed.

"Shit!" He yelled, clutching his head.

He heard Arthr run up the stairs and practically slam into the door. "Alfred?!" He shouted. "Are you okay?!" He rattled the door handle which stayed firmly locked.

"Yeah, Iggy, I'm alright!" Alfred called back. "I just fell."

"Damn twit!" Arthur growled, clearly relieved. "Don't scare me like that. I'm going down stairs to close up shop. Just… be more careful."

Alfred listened to the sound of Arthur's foot steps retreating down the stairs as he found his way back onto his feet. He was about to try for the box again when he looked down and saw a picture of him and Arthur that had fallen down along with him, the glass frame shattered everywhere. He stared in surprise at how a significantly large shard was covered in blood. The red liquid slipped off the slick surface and spilled onto the floor. He looked down at his arm as it began to sting intensely.

The glass had slid diagonally across his arm, leaving a river of blood in it's wake. Cursing, Alfred made his way into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind him. He turned on the sink and fliched in pain as the blood washed down the drain in a spiraling pattern. Turning off the water, he reached up into the cabinet and pulled out a roll of gauze. He wrapped it around his arm like Arthur had taught him when he was little and watched as the blood continued to seep through, flowering on the white surface like a poppy blooming in the spring.

He watched in morbid fascination, squeezing the sides of the cut and feeling his heart beat pick up. The pain distracted him from the thoughts that pestered his mind. He continued to watch the crimson fluid leak out of the bandage.

Red was such a pretty color.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred hefted the heavy box of books out of the moving truck. Their new apartment was a lot smaller than their old house, causing Arthur and Alfred to have sell a lot of their belongings. Arthur had to narrow down his book collection quite a bit.

And of course Alfred felt responsible.

"Arthur…" Alfred sad, looking down at the box he carried in his arms. "I'm sorry."

Arthur looked up from the moving documents he held in his hand, the statement taking him by surprise. "What ever do you mean by that?"

"If I wouldn't have buckled under the pressure… and if I would have gotten the job… you wouldn't be in this situation."

Arthur put his hands on his hips indignantly. "Now look here, Alfred! None of this is your fault! If anything, I should have learned to handle my money better…" Arthur cast a guilty glance to the moving truck full of books.

Alfred nodded and let out a quiet grunt before bringing the books into their new apartment. Their new home.

That night as Alfred sat down at the dinner table he could barely even think about eating the plate of food that Arthur had placed in front of him, which looked even less appetizing than usual.

Arthur cast an uneasy glance in Alfred's direction, lifting a spoon full of beef stew to his lips. Alfred just stared down at his plate, the scent of food making his stomach uneasy- for more than one reason.

"I'm not hungry tonight." Alfred said, standing and bringing his plate to the sink.

"Not hungry? How very unlike you. Did you go down to McDonald's and get another burger again?" Arthur chastised.

"No." Alfred replied simply. "I'm just not hungry."

As he made his way down to his new room Arthur kept his eyes trailed on his back, worried but not knowing how to help his little brother.

Alfred went into his room and immediately flopped down on his bed, rolled onto his side, and buried his head in his blankets.

_This is all my fault. If only I had done things differently. It would be so much easier on Iggy if I weren't here to burden him._

Alfred sat back up and walked over to one of the unopened boxes of his things and pulled out a little clear plastic bag, not sure whether to be happy or sad when he saw the tiny piece of metal on the inside catch a pocket of light and reflect it back into his face. He retreated into the bathroom, making sure Arthur didn't see him, and locked the door. For the next 15 minutes he sat there, dragging the blade across his wrists and relishing in the thin red lines they left behind.

When he was satisfied, he washed out the wounds and started to bandage them up (he didn't want them to get infected, like what happened to the first cut he got), and then retreated back into his room, hiding the blade under his mattress. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a while before Arthur opened the door. He stood in the doorway, obviously uncomfortable, awkwardly holding onto his arm and struggling to look Alfred in the eyes.

"Um, Alfred?" He began. "I just wanted to tell you, really none of this is your fault." He walked over and sat down on the bed next to Alfred, who was still lying on his back. "I know that things are looking down at the moment, and you miss the book shop, but… At least we still have each other." Arthur finally looked Alfred in the eye, managing a smile.

Alfred just looked back up at the ceiling. "I understand, Arthur."

Arthur nodded and coughed into his fist. "Right. Okay. Well, I'll see you tomorrow."

He quickly retreated from the room, closing the door behind him. In the hallway, he mentally kicked himself. _Fuck… Why can't I ever just have a good conversation about emotions? I swear…_

He looked up, sighing. _Who am I kidding… No matter how hard I try, I'll never be a good brother to Alfred. _But then an idea struck him. _But I know who is!_

He pulled out his cell phone and searched through his contacts until he finally found the name he'd been looking for. _Matthew Williams…_ He thought. _Let's hope you can do a better job than me._

He hit the call button.


	5. Chapter 5

Matthew arrived at his brother's new apartment at precisely 1:00 pm, his other big brother Francis by his side. After he had received an unnerving call from Arthur about Alfred, Matthew had packed his bags and headed over immediately. Arthur had insisted that it may be nothing, and that Matthew need only come see him for a day or so, but Matthew knew his brother. If something was wrong, he needed to be there for him.

Matthew rang the doorbell and Arthur was there almost immediately, beckoning them inside. They entered the smaller than average kitchen and Matthew noticed Francis looking around, distaste showing plainly on his face.

"Wow, Arthur," Francis smirked, "nice place you got here."

"Shut up, bloody frog! We have more important things to discuss than my kitchen!" Arthur snapped. "Matthew, why did you have to bring this git along with you?"

"Sorry, Arthur." Matthew said apologetically. "I just didn't want to leave him alone at our place for an entire week."

"Right, I can understand that." Arthur cast a wary glance in Francis' direction, who just smirked in return.

"So, Arthur, where is Alfred?" Mathew said, breaking the silence.

"Oh, right. He's in his room, watching TV, just like he's been doing ever since yesterday morning. The only time he's not on the couch he's got himself locked in the bathroom. I think he may be getting sick. You'll understand when you see him..."

Arthur led the two to Alfred's locked door and rapped his fist on it lightly, like he was afraid of what may be on the other side. "Alfred?" He called. "Matthew's here… and Francis. Come out and say hello."

The was a loud thud in the other room, followed by a string of curse words, as if Alfred had fallen off his bed. The door creaked open a moment later.

Matthew knew instantly that something was wrong.

Alfred's complexion was suddenly pale and sickly, as if he hadn't seen daylight in a number of weeks. His glasses were hanging halfway off his face and as he raised his hand to straighten them, Matthew noticed that he was visibly shaking.

"Alfred…" Matthew started, not exactly sure what to say. "It's been a while…"

Alfred rubbed his eyes and managed a weak smile. "Hey, Mattie. What brings you here?"

"Um, well, I just thought I'd come visit. You just moved in and I thought you may want some help."

"Thanks for the thought, but I think that I got this. I really should be going. I have an, um, TV date, or something, and I want to sleep, and stuff like that..." He tried to close the door but Arthur put his hand out, preventing Alfred for slipping away.

"Actually, Alfred, Matthew and Francis will be staying for about a week… so seven days."

Matthew thought he saw a strange look flash on Alfred's face, but it happened so fast he wasn't sure if he had imagined it. "Okay. That's great." Alfred forced a smile on his face, although to Matthew it looked more like a grimace. "Just let me get cleaned up a little and I'll be out in a few."

He practically slammed the door shut, leaving the people in the hallway feeling slightly disturbed.

In his room Alfred felt like screaming. _Shit! Why the hell is Mattie here? This isn't good… I have to clean up. I can't let it seem like anything is wrong._

Alfred wrapped his arm and made sure to shove his blade and old bandages under his bed, not wanting to risk them being found. He put on his jacket, making sure the sleeves reached past his wrists, on then snuck into the bathroom to wash off his face. He caught his reflection in the mirror and found himself unable to look away.

_I don't even look like myself right now. And I feel all shaky… Maybe it's the cuts on my arm. I think the one from the glass shard is getting infected, and it should be healed already. I hope that doesn't come back to bite me later._

Alfred pried his eyes away from the image in the mirror. After drying his face he headed into the living room to face his brothers.

Everyone stopped talking as he entered the room and he knew instantly that he had been the object of discussion.

"Hey, Alfred." Arthur said, trying to lighten the mood. "We haven't eaten yet and we were thinking that we should all go out for lunch, wouldn't that be fun? Besides, we haven't seen Matthew in a while, we should really catch up."

"Don't forget about me!" Francis interjected, looking insulted.

"Yes, you too, Francis."

Alfred hesitated for a moment before agreeing. _After all_, he thought, _I don't want to worry anyone. Maybe if I just act like everything's okay for a little bit, Mattie will go home and I can just be alone. Arthur will be there, but he won't bug me too much, so it will all work out._

Everyone made their way outside of the suffocating apartment and into the light of day, preparing for a lunch that Alfred knew he wouldn't eat.


	6. Chapter 6

The group all piled into Arthur's cheaply purchased VW bug, Alfred sitting in the passenger seat. The last thing he wanted was someone pressed up against him in the back of a stuffy car that he'd had the pleasure of riding in since before his conscious memory. They decided on going to Rosie's Diner, although it was really Arthur who made the decision on a strangely quiet Alfred's behalf.

Rosie's Diner was a small establishment that set up shop just off of highway 180. The title of "Best Burgers and Chili on This Side of the Country," had been held since 1989, or so claimed their neon blue paper menus they handed the group as they walked in the door. Arthur couldn't help but cringe a little in disgust at the clumps of dried ketchup that clung to the edges of his menu.

The diner was mostly only home to truckers or the occasional family passing through on a road trip, but ever since he was little Alfred had loved the place. He always begged Arthur to take him there for every meal, and sometimes in between.

As they sat down in a little booth and waited for someone to come take their orders, the group scanned the menu. Alfred could see the uneasy expressions on their faces, as if they were almost afraid to order anything.

_Great, _Alfred pouted, _now I've gone and made everyone uncomfortable again._

The waiter appeared about two minutes later, a bubbly looking man with a thick Italian accent. "Hello! My name is Feliciano, and thank you for coming to eat here!" He smiled, his entire face lighting up. "May I take your orders?"

"Feliciano?" Arthur said, a surprised look on his face.

Feliciano looked over at Arthur, recognition seeping into his eyes. "Arthur! Hi! I haven't seen you in forever."

"I didn't know you worked here." Arthur said.

"Oh, well, I got fired again, and this was the only place that was hiring." Feliciano blushed, still smiling. "But this time I'm going to do better! I won't get fired again!"

Arthur shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Well, it's great to see you again. By the way, this is my little brother, Alfred, and this is Matthew and Francis."

They all smiled politely and said hello. Even Alfred forced a smile onto his face.

"It's nice to meet you all! What brings you all here?"

Arthur smiled politely. "Well, we were hoping to get something to eat."

"Oh, right!" Feliciano smiled and proceeded to take their orders. When he finished he grinned at Arthur one last time before heading back into the kitchen.

The table suddenly got very quiet, Alfred looking down at his hands. He could feel the others looking at him with concern on their faces as he had to grab his wrist to prevent himself from shaking.

"So, Arthur," Francis said, trying to start a conversation. "How do you know that Feliciano person?"

"Oh, yeah. A while back, before the, erm, bookstore issue, Feliciano used to work for me."

This piqued Alfred's attention. "I didn't know that." He looked up at Arthur, trying to act as normal as possible.

"Yes, well, he delivered books to me from the provider, so he was a truck driver." Arthur shook his head, sighing. "But I'm sorry to say that it didn't work out very well. There was an issue and, well… let's just say that I lost a whole shipment of books over the side of that bridge."

"That's not good." Matthew said, looking slightly concerned.

"I never knew about this." Alfred almost whispered as a thought popped into his mind. How much had Arthur not told him about the book store?

"Erm, well, I didn't want to worry you." Arthur said hurriedly, hearing the tone in Alfred's voice.

"Arthur…" Alfred was trying to keep his voice steady, a strange calmness descending over him. "How long had the bookstore been having financial troubles?"

Arthur was taken aback. "W- what do you mean by that?! And don't ask questions like that, it's rude to talk about money in front of other people." He shook his head, praying that Alfred didn't push any further. But he did.

"Just answer the question."

Arthur was quiet a moment. "Can this wait until later?" He almost whispered.

"... Arthur… please just tell me…" Alfred's voice finally wavered.

Arthur sighed, Matthew and Francis exchanging nervous glances. "Alfred… the bookstore had always been small, and people now days don't read books like they used to." He looked Alfred in the eyes, a mix of disappointment and regret highlighting the emerald shade of his own. "We haven't sold one book in over a year…" He looked down, no longer able to bear seeing the expression dawning Alfred's face.

"No… that's impossible." Alfred shook his head, either not wanting or unable to accept it. "How did we pay for everything? The bills and everything else? The bookstore was our only source of income!" Alfred shot up from his chair, a few heads sending quick glances in their direction before turning their attention back to their meals.

"Alfred, please sit down. It's okay-"

"No! It's not okay! Answer the question! How did we survive if the bookstore was so useless?"

Arthur up at Alfred, who was shaking. He felt like crying at the sight of his little brother in his present state, his complexion much too pale and dark bags clinging to the bottoms of his dulling blue eyes.

"I was lucky." He said quietly, ashamed to have to tell Alfred the truth. "I could find jobs… small things like a grocery checker, a janitor… I was even an assistant cook for a while at a place like this. That one didn't last long."

He stood up and reached out to grab Alfred's shoulder, to find some sort of stability as he felt the world, and all the things he did to protect Alfred from a life like Arthur had once had, slowly dissolving out from under him. Alfred stepped back, letting Arthur's hand only grasp air.

He turned away from Arthur and walked to the door, leaving his brother standing in the aisle feeling more alone than ever, Matthew and Francis both getting up to follow him. Arthur put his hand out to stop them. "Just let him go." He wiped at his eyes. "Let him be alone, if that's what he really wants right now."

Alfred threw open the front doors and stepped outside, not looking back.

~Later that night~

Outside the rain fell hard, pelting the top of Alfred's head and rolling down the side of his face like tears. Or maybe they really were tears, but he could no longer tell the difference. With jaded eyes he shifted his gaze up to the sky and saw nothing but dark clouds spilling rain and obscuring the already setting sun from view. He had fled down to a park that lay just on the other side of the bridge, sitting on the top of a slide. Everyone had already left, leaving him alone to stare upwards and wonder the reason for everything.

Had he not tried hard enough? Had he done something wrong? He squeezed his eyes shut, now positive that there were tears mingling with the rain that slid down his face. He always knew that he had been bad at reading people, or just common sense in general, but how had he not managed to see that something was wrong?

_And why didn't Iggy tell me? Could he really not trust me with something like this?_

That thought bothered him more than anything.

He looked over at the bridge that was stretching across the water and clenched his fist. The water was particularly fast tonight…

He grabbed his hair in his fists and let out a moan that could only escape from the lips of a man who knew that things weren't how they used to be. His whole world was crumbling right before him- but he knew that wasn't right. It had been falling apart for a long time, he just didn't notice until then.


	7. Chapter 7

When Alfred tapped his fist lightly against the door of his apartment, he was surprised to see that it was Francis who opened the door for him. There was a moment of silence as the two locked eyes and a sort of unspoken message passed between them.

It was obvious that Alfred didn't want to talk.

Alfred pushed his way past Francis and walked down the hallway, just wanting to disappear into his room and sleep. His plan was halted momentarily by Francis' voice calling down the hallway. "They're still out looking for you. Arthur and Matthew." Not acknowledging that anything had been said, Alfred hesitated for only a moment before closing his door behind him.

Once locked in his room, Alfred sat on his bed, running his clammy hands through his air. _How could I have been so fucking stupid? I mean, I _lived _with the guy! _Alfred inwardly cursed himself. He never had been good at reading people.

He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeve, looking at the gauze that wrapped all the way up and down his arm. Breathing in, he unraveled the bandages, cringing at the sight of the cuts that were now covering his wrist. The worst one was the one the glass shard had left, winding down his arm like a river of infected flesh.

Alfred stood and lifted up his mattress, pulling out the extra gauze and disinfectants that he had hidden down there along with his blades. He grabbed one of those as well. He sat back down on the bed, putting the metal to his wrist and hesitating. For some reason recently, whenever the blade touched his skin, he didn't get the same feeling he used to when he first started. He pushed the metal deeper into his arm, trying to make a deeper cut. He remembered something Iggy had read him from a book when he was little. Apparently, back when there wasn't medicine for sick people, doctors would cut their patients and try to get them to bleed out their sickness. Alfred remembered it being called bloodletting, or something along those lines.

But as Alfred lost himself in this thought, and he realized that there was too much blood seeping out to be healthy, he realized something; he couldn't be free from his problems by bleeding them out. No, his problems were much more serious than that, something that could only be cured permanently by much more drastic actions. His laptop pinged from his table and he was shaken out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he cleaned up and hid all of his supplies.

He walked over to his computer, which had finally decide that it was up to working, and inspected his computer screen which alerted him that someone was trying to PM him. He checked his messages and immediately wished he hadn't. Someone by the user name of _Pochi-Kun0813_ had sent him multiple PMs over the past few days, but Alfred had purposely ignored them, not wanting to face the person he had let down.

Deciding that it was finally time he replied, he clicked on the latest message and read it.

_Pochi-kun0813_: Alfred-san, I am worried about you for not answering my PMs. Arthur says you are feeling unwell. Do you need my help?

Alfred hesitated a moment. He hit the reply button and began typing.

_UnitedHero778_: Hey Kiku. Sorry I haven't replied. I've been busy with moving and stuff. I'm okay so don't worry, Iggy's just getting freaked out over nothing like he usually does. ; )

Alfred re-read the message. _That sounds like something I'd say, right? _He clicked send.

Not even a minute later a reply dinged for his attention again.

_Pochi-kun0813_: I'm glad to hear that. But Arthur just called me and said that he couldn't find you. Are you okay?

Alfred sighed. _Dang it, Arthur…_

_UnitedHero778:_ I'm home now and there's nothing to worry about. You know how Arthur can get.

_Pochi-kun0813_: I understand. But Alfred, I am still concerned. Are you sure you are alright?

_UnitedHero778_: I've just been feeling a little down lately, and this whole moving situation is screwing me up.

_Pochi-kun0813_: If you think you need some help, I think I know someone who could help you. He's a doctor and is really good with helping people who are dealing with stress.

_UnitedHero778_: Thanks for the offer Kiku, but I don't think I need a doctor.

_Pochi-kun0813_: I understand. Just in case you change your mind, I'll send you his number, though.

A few seconds later another message popped up, a phone number typed out on the screen.

_UnitedHero778_: Thanks Kiku, but I don't think I'll need it. I have to go now, but we can chat later. Ttyl!

_Pochi-kun0813_: Good night, Alfred-san. I hope you feel better.

Alfred looked at the number on the screen for a few seconds before turning off his laptop and getting into bed. There was no way in hell he was going to talk to a doctor.

_I mean, I'm not sick, am I?_

**Hey! I'm sorry I haven't been able to update, I've just been a little preoccupied lately. It took a lot of effort even to get this much written down! Anyways, I'll try and find the time to write more, so don't worry. Enjoy your day!**


	8. Chapter 8

When Alfred awoke the not too much later to the sound of pounding on his door, he nearly fell out of his chair. He assumed that he had fallen asleep there before he'd had the chance to drag his weary body into his bed. Arthur's angry voice called from the other side of the door, jolting Alfred out of the dream he was having. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember what it was about. All he could remember was that it had made him happy, a feeling he hadn't had for a long time, and he was less than pleased to have been denied that small pleasure.

He got to his unsteady feet, holding onto his chair for support. "Arthur… What the hell…" He mumbled sleepily.

"Get out of that room right now! You can't just come back home in the middle of the night and NOT TELL ME YOU WERE OKAY!"

Alfred almost laughed despite himself. _Wasn't he the one who let me leave? _He pondered this for a moment before unlocking his door.

As soon as the door opened and Alfred saw Arthur's face, he wished he would have stayed in bed. His eyes were bloodshot, and it was obvious that he hadn't slept all night. His hair was in even worse condition than usual, but it was the look in his eyes that made Alfred uneasy. A strange mixture of concern, sadness, anger and disappointment were all present, things that Alfred knew were never good to see in the eyes of his brother.

"Alfred, you bloody git…" Arthur said, his voice much quieter.

Matthew was standing behind Arthur, a worried look on his face. Matthew knew that Alfred was already in a delicate state, and that confronting him head on in such a manner would just make things worse, but Arthur wouldn't listen. As soon as they got home and Francis had said that Alfred was in his room Matthew knew that there would be no stopping a confrontation.

Arthur clenched his fists, trying to take in deep breaths and fighting to stay calm. "Look… Alfred… Everyone here is here right now because we are worried about you. You haven't been eating, you look too pale for any healthy human being, and you just haven't been acting like yourself! What's the matter? You know you can talk to me! ...To us." He looked down at the ground, not meeting Alfred's eyes.

_He can't even look at me… I screwed up that badly…? What did I do wrong? Why do I feel like this? Why can't I talk to Iggy like I used to when I was a kid…?_

Alfred, running a clammy hand through his hair, shook his head, trying his best to fake a smile. "I don't know what's got you guys so worried. I'm fine, really. I promise…"

His voice faltered a little bit on those last two words, making Arthur look back up, locking his gaze with Alfred's.

"Why don't you tell me anything any more? You used to tell me everything! I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the book store. You're right; I should never have lied to you about that. It's not that I didn't trust you… It's just that I didn't want you to worry. Now please, Alfred, don't make the mistake I made, just tell me when something is wrong!"

Alfred's fake smile fell from his face and he could only stare at the floor. For one, short moment he considered telling them what was going on. He almost pulled up his sleeves and showed them the scars, almost told Arthur everything about what had been going on. But he didn't. Alfred shook his head, sighing. Without another word, he turned around and closed his door behind him, being careful to lock it tightly.

Alfred sat on his bed and looked around. The night outside was now black and soulless, giving Alfred enough information to guess that it was still late. He looked down at his sleeves. _I don't know what I'm going to do… I don't want to hurt Arthur or Matthew or even Francis, but every time I hurt myself its almost as if they're the ones taking the knife._

He shook his head, trying desperately to fight off the oncoming wave of anxiety and depression that settled on his shoulders like a heavy blanket.

_Why the hell does Iggy always have to bud in? I'm not trying to hurt him! I'm not trying to hurt anyone! I just want to be left alone. It's none of their business, and it shouldn't bother them._

He thought back to earlier that night, when he sat at the park alone. He remembered looking at the bridge and longing, even though it was just for an instant, for the feeling of being washed away in that river, how he wished so badly for sweet relief of… he couldn't even think it. But he had to wonder exactly how long it would be until he could no longer deny himself such a pleasure.

Feeling so lost, so hopeless, and believing he had no where to turn, Alfred fought the urge to grab his blades. He knew that doing so just hurt the ones he wanted to protect. _After all,_ he thought, _I am the hero…_

_But every hero has a weakness._

_And I think I've found mine._

Sitting on his bed, Alfred felt his chest beginning to tighten, forcing him to fight for every breath. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants, but he could not seem to rid them of the sweat as it just kept coming.

_They know something's wrong. They're onto me, and if I don't do anything then it will be just a matter of time until they catch on. I need a way out. I need to make everything stop. And if I don't… I don't think… I'll last much longer…_

Alfred grabbed onto his arm, digging his fingernails into his skin, relishing in the feeling that it gave him. His erratic heart rate began to calm and he was once again able to breathe normally.

He felt his head begin to spin and clear, and it was as if he could finally think without everything that was wrong constantly overwhelming his mind. He shuddered in ecstasy and felt a smile that felt very misplaced begin to grow on his face. He didn't have to worry about the guilt, about the anxiety, or even about Arthur or Matthew. But as the initial relief the pain brought him began to dissipate, he found himself once again alone his his bedroom, with no where to turn, and no one to talk to.

Alfred lay down and fell asleep, no longer blessed with happy dreams, but instead plagued with nightmares that left him unable to sleep for more than a few hours. He pulled open his laptop and stared blankly at the screen. Alfred wasn't sure how long he was on the computer, looking at random things and wasting time, but he realized that by the time he looked up the sun was already out.

He browsed around the internet for a while longer until an ad popped up on the side of his computer.

_Do you need help? _The ad screamed at him in bold black lettering. _See a doctor today! We are here to help you, be it with depression, anxiety or drug abuse._

Alfred hesitated a moment before clicking on the ad. _I'm not doing anything better. I mean, I don't do drugs, and I don't have depression… but it wouldn't hurt to look._

Alfred clicked on the ad and it took him to a page that talked about the danger of depression and a bunch of different mental issues, and after skimming a few lines he realized that the article's main point was stressing how it was important to talk to people.

_Blah, blah, blah. Nothing important. _Alfred continued to scroll down the page until he saw a number for someone to call for more information at the bottom of the page. He stopped and looked at the number.

_Isn't that the number that Kiku sent me? His doctor friend? I don't need a doctor. I really don't. But… _He looked at his arm, knowing what lay just below his bandages. _Fine. I'll call. Not to set up an appointment or anything… just to ask some questions. Yeah. That's all._

Alfred pulled out his phone and dialed a number. It rang only once before a man with a thick Russian accent picked up on the other line.

**I finally wrote another chapter! This chapter was just me trying to get the story going somewhere, and form here it will start to pick up.**

**I really want to stress how important it really is to talk to people. Feel free to PM me if you need to , or find someone you really trust, just realize that you don't have to do it alone. I've been through a lot of crap, and believe me: if I hadn't told someone I would not still be here today. Thankyou for taking the time to read this, and enjoy the rest of your day!**


	9. Chapter 9

Two very uncomfortable days of avoiding Arthur and basically every other human being passed and Alfred found himself in a cozy waiting room that smelt of relaxation candles and fresh paper. He shifted from side to side awkwardly as he stood in front of the secretary, a brown haired man with green eyes who smiled at Alfred, a tinge of concern in his eyes. It was a look that Alfred had grown accustomed to.

"Hello!" The man said, still smiling fakely. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Braginsky?"

"Yes, I do. For 2:00?"

The man, whose name plate read Toris Laurinaitis, started typing away at his computer. "Ah, yes, here you are. Alfred F. Jones?"

Alfred nodded. "Yep, that's me."

"Alright, Mr. Braginsky should be out in about-"

The door just behind Torris flew open and Alfred saw him flinch as the russian man that Alfred assumed was Mr. Braginsky burst into the room. "Torris! Have you seen the extra pair of clothes I put on the clothing rack-"

The man caught sight of Alfred and smiled broadly. "Hello! I am Mr. Braginsky, but you may call me Ivan if you wish. I assume that you are Mr. Alfred Jones?"

Alfred nodded as he took the man in. He seemed to be very friendly, almost childlike, and Alfred immediately pegged him for someone who was very eccentric.

Ivan smiled and motioned for Alfred to follow him into the room he had just emerged from. "If you would like to join me in my office. Oh! And Torris, please tell Raivis to find that outfit I hung up earlier; I was planning on wearing that tomorrow."

Alfred followed Ivan into the room and sat down on the almost too comfortable reclining chair in the corner of the room. Ivan sat down behind his desk and started typing something on his computer. Suddenly he spun around to face Alfred, still smiling softly.

"So, Alfred, what brings you in to see me today?" He said, tilting his head slightly to try and convey how he was being genuine.

Alfred was at a loss for words. He had played this confrontation over in his head multiple times for the past two days, but now that it was finally time to actually confess, he was at a loss for words. Ivan, noticing his discomfort, continued to smile. "It's alright, Alfred. This is a safe place. Here you can say anything you want and no one but me will ever know. I promise."

Alfred only nodded and looked down at his hands. Ivan, realizing that he needed a new approach, stood up from his chair. He crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee, offering one to Alfred, who politely refused. Alfred noticed that Ivan poured nearly half a bottle of vodka into his cup before returning to his seat.

"Helps calm nerves." He smiled in response to Alfred's unintentional gawking. "Now, Alfred, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

Alfred nodded. "Um, sure… I was adopted when I was really little by my big brother, Arthur, although I call him Iggy, I'm not sure why, but…" Alfred stopped himself, realizing that he was rambling. "Um, but I guess that's really not important. I'm just here because I had some questions, and a friend of mine said that they thought you could help…"

Ivan leaned forwards, suddenly very interested, the same childish smile still on his face. "What kinds of questions?"

Alfred looked back down at his hands. He could feel his heart rate rising and he tried desperately tried to stop the shaking. The last thing he wanted was a panic attack.

"I was just curious… Hell, I don't even know about what. It's just that recently… I've been a little confused. I need help, I know that much, but I don't know what with. I'm not sick or anything, I just feel… Shit, I don't even know." Alfred leaned back in his seat, laughing bitterly. "I probably sound crazy."

Ivan shook his head, an uncharacteristically serious look replacing his normal smiling demeanor. "Alfred, I can promise you right now that you are not crazy. What you are going through is perfectly normal and you need to know that you are not alone. I want to help you, but in order to do that I need you to tell me more."

Alfred swallowed, nodding slowly. "Alright."

Ivan smiled once again. "Go ahead, I'm listening."

Alfred began to tell Ivan everything, slowly at first, but gaining speed as he went. He told him about his past of childhood anxiety, the stress of losing the bookshop and guilt of not being able to hold down a job, and the shame he felt everytime he saw how tired Arthur looked. Then he got to the part about the cutting. Ivan noticed the sudden shutdown of Alfred's story and leaned closer.

"Alfred, you can tell me anything. I'm not going to make you, but you need to realize that you'll never get better if you don't tell me everything."

Alfred looked down at his shaking hands, knowing what was just underneath his shirt sleeves. "There… There's nothing else."

Ivan leaned back, something like sadness and disappointment lingering just behind the smile on his face. "That's alright, Alfred. You've done very well."

Alfred looked up at Ivan. "So that's it? I tell you my life story, everything that's happened, and I just go back to my daily life like that?"

Ivan smiled. "Not exactly. I think I know something that can help you, but I need your help on this." Ivan looked Alfred in the eyes. "Alfred, I think you may have Major Depressive Disorder. In order to confirm this I'd have to run a few tests, but I think this is most likely the reason you've been feeling so down lately."

"Major… Major Depressive Disorder…?"

"Yes. It's a type of depression characterized by two or more straight weeks of depression not brought on by drugs. I think that this most accurately describes your symptoms, and if we work together, we can treat it."

"Wait, back up a little… I'm depressed? Depression is for, like, mopey emo kids, and that's not me… I can't be depressed."

Ivan shook his head. "Alfred, I know that this may be a little hard to accept, but depression can happen to anyone… even you. But if we don't work to stop it, it may continue to get worse."

Alfred was quiet for a moment, looking down at his trembling hands again. "So… So if I get this thing treated, it will go away? I'll go back to normal and Iggy and I… we can go back to regular life?"

Ivan smiled slightly. "I can't guarantee instant results, Alfred, but I can promise that the situation is not hopeless."

Alfred paused for another moment, weighing his options. He could leave, go home and lock himself in his room forever and let himself rot in self pity, or he could agree to go through treatment and get better… To him it seemed like a pretty obvious choice.

"Alright." He said, looking up into Ivan's eyes. "I'll do it. I… I want to get better."

Ivan smiled back. "Okay, Alfred. Shall we get started?"

**Shit, it took me WAY too long to write this! Sorry about that… But hey, it's done now! And sorry if it sucks, but I wrote this chapter kind of fast, so it's not as smooth as I would like, but whatever. Enjoy your day!**


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